An Unexpected Match

by Gayle Roper

  Rob broke the silence. “Was your husband Amish?”

  “Yes.”

  He nodded and ran a hand through his hair. “Your honesty and openness were two of the things I liked most about you, Rachel.”

  Talk about a knife to the heart. She actually flinched from the pain. “I’m sorry.” How weak it sounded.

  “I’d really hoped…” He looked at her with his heart in his eyes.

  “Me too,” she managed to whisper. The air vibrated with emotion and longing.

  He sighed and stood. “I’d better go.”

  She nodded numbly and stood too.

  He reached out and pulled off the head scarf. “That’s a little better.”

  She let her head fall forward until it rested against his chest. Her tears wet his dress shirt. Being with him was so easy, so natural. Loving him was so hard, so impossible.

  For a brief moment his arms came around her and she thought she felt a kiss on the top of her head. She felt hope for the first time in their conversation. Perhaps they’d survive her deceit after all.

  Then he stiffened and backed away. With a small nod and a sad smile, he was gone.

  She stood with her back against the door, listening to him drive away. Her shoulders shook and tears bathed her face.

  All she wanted was to learn things.

  Chapter 29

  Friday morning when Johnny tested his various body parts, he still hurt like crazy, but he knew he wasn’t going to die. He pulled himself out of bed and shuffled down the hall to the bathroom like an old man. Still no blood in his urine, thank God. He took three aspirin and grabbed the muscle soothing lotion.

  When Mr. Sherman’s goons had grabbed him Wednesday night and Mick had stepped up swinging that bat, Johnny had gone faint with fear. Would it be a broken skull or shattered kneecaps?

  When Mick set the bat down and started with his fists, Johnny had actually felt relieved. Maybe he wouldn’t get clubbed after all, unless Mick was saving the best for last.

  He hadn’t realized how much a fist to the solar plexus gutted you. Not only did pain swamp you, but your ability to breathe was paralyzed. No matter how he tried, he couldn’t draw air. Just when he thought he was going to die, he’d managed to gasp, and precious oxygen filled his lungs. That was when Mick let him have it again.

  He hadn’t exactly seen stars, but flashes of red danced before him as he sagged in Thomas’s arms. He started to look forward to a clean strike to the head from the bat. At least it would knock him out. Instead he got a few more punches to the ribs and one especially nasty one to his kidney.

  Then Mick picked up the bat, and Johnny prepared for the end. Mick was in such a rage, he’d probably not stop with one swift bash. Before he could swing, Rachel’s boyfriend rushed in, a one man rescue squad. Bing, bang, and Thomas was gone. Boom and Mick followed. Too bad he was so weak he wasn’t able to appreciate Rob’s moves in all their beauty. He’d get lessons when he was better.

  Thursday had passed in a blur of pain. He slept most of the day. He ventured downstairs for some food in midafternoon, but hurt so much he was more than glad to return to bed. In the evening he went down again and met Rachel’s cute little blonde friend Amy. What a sweetie! And Rob stopped by to see how he was.

  Poor Rachel. Unmasked twice in one evening.

  Now it was the second morning after the beating and he held onto the sink while he recovered from the exertion of swallowing the aspirin. After a few minutes of trying to breathe without it hurting, he started the trek back to the bedroom. When he finally made it, he painted himself with the muscle stuff. Then he lay back down as he waited for the various medicines to take effect. While he waited, he pondered his situation with Mr. Sherman.

  He’d underestimated the man. He’d thought it would be all threats, like Corner Bob. Scary, scary, sure, but they could be weathered. He’d forgotten that Bob had only threats because Bob had done what Mr. Sherman asked. There was no need for stronger action in his case.

  Johnny hadn’t cooperated. Of course he hadn’t. He couldn’t. He didn’t have several thousand dollars to repay that idiotic loan. He still couldn’t believe how stupid he’d been.

  He looked at the unadorned walls of Rachel’s guest room and thought his life was as barren. The rest of her house was Plain too, but her life was full. She had her job, the family, college, Rob.

  He saw a blob of color out of the corner of his eye and looked over to see a clutch of bright yellow flowers in a Mason jar on the bedside table. He was sure they hadn’t been there last night. Rachel must have put them there before she left for school this morning.

  Rachel loved beauty. Her gardens were spectacular. The quilt on her bed was more than functional with its soft pastels and pretty floral pattern. She was beautiful. She was smart. She was kind.

  She was caught between two worlds.

  He’d always wondered why she married Aaron. He was a nice enough guy, but she was made for more. Of all the Miller kids, she was far and away the standout. Not that she knew it or even thought it, but it was true.

  He’d seen her and Rob look at each other when they thought no one was watching. She’d never looked at Aaron that way, poor guy. Poor Rachel.

  And poor him. He went back to contemplating Mr. Sherman. No matter which way he looked at things, he realized there was only one thing to do. He was going to have to become one of the goons, at least until the loan was paid off. Then he would get as far from Mr. Sherman as he could. California was looking better by the second. He’d go today if he wasn’t afraid of the man’s threats toward his sisters.

  Just before Rachel came home from school, he let himself out of the house and drove to his trailer. He knew he couldn’t stay here. If Mick wanted to find him, this was the first place he’d look. But they wouldn’t expect him to be here now. He hoped.

  He stripped out of the clothes he’d worn for the last two days and lay down on his much less comfortable bed until eight o’clock. He pulled out the bottle of Rachel’s aspirin that he’d borrowed and dosed himself. He showered and then rubbed on more of her muscle relaxant. He dressed, amazed that it could hurt so much to push your arms into sleeves. He drove to Corner Bob’s.

  “Whoa!” Bob studied his face. “Walk into an open door?”

  “Yeah. One with fists.”

  Bob drew him a beer.

  Johnny studied the empty stool at the end of the bar where unhappy Harry always sat. “Where’s our friend?”

  “You didn’t hear? In the hospital. He’s in a coma.”

  Johnny felt a chill slide down his body. “What happened?”

  “Got attacked the other night. Beaten with a baseball bat.”

  Johnny pictured Mick picking up his bat. He swiped at the sweat on his lip. His chest felt as if one of Datt’s plow horses sat on it.

  “Robbery?” Please let it be a robbery.

  Bob wiped at a spot on the bar. “Harry never had money. He’s in so deep to Mr. Sherman it’s all he can do to buy beer.”

  No wonder the man always looked so miserable. “Any suspects?”

  “The cops were in here earlier. Someone told them Harry hung out here.”

  “Bet Mr. Sherman liked that.”

  “He wasn’t here yet. But he’s not a happy man. Take my word for it.”

  Johnny forced a smile. “Maybe this’ll make him take his business elsewhere.”

  “I should be so lucky.”

  Johnny nursed his beer, imagining himself in that hospital bed, brain made mush by Mick’s bat. When his glass was empty, he held it out. “Another.”

  “Better not.” Bob tipped his head toward the back of the place. “Here comes Mick.”

  Johnny stood, forcing himself to stand straight instead of curving in on himself protectively. Standing straight hurt like the devil.

  Johnny followed Mick to Mr. Sherman’s table and stood in excruciating pain waiting for the great man’s attention. Thomas ignored him, surveying the room as usual.


  Finally Mr. Sherman deigned to look up. “Johnny.” Like he hadn’t known he was there all along. “Have a seat.”

  Trying not to sigh in relief, Johnny gingerly sat.

  “Dear me,” Mr. Sherman forced his pudgy face into a look of faux sympathy. “What happened to you?”

  “Walked into a door in the dark.”

  “Ah. Of course.” Faux smile. “I must say I’m surprised to see you up and about. Mick and Thomas told me about your accident.”

  Johnny glanced briefly at Mick who smirked at him, then at Thomas who didn’t even glance his way. What had their version of the fight been like? He’d bet anything they hadn’t mentioned Rob.

  He dropped his gaze and tried to remember the words he had practiced all day as he lay in bed. “As you know, sir, I owe you a considerable sum of money.”

  Mr. Sherman tipped his head in acknowledgment.

  “I wanted to ask if there is any service I can perform for you to work off the amount.”

  There. He’d said it. He’d offered himself a living sacrifice, not to God like they told you to in Gmay but to a bloated petty crime lord.

  Mr. Sherman laced his fingers and set his hands on his table. “Why should I let you work off your debt?”

  Johnny stared at the chubby fingers and tried to come up with an answer. He settled on the truth. “Because I’ll never have the money.”

  “Never?”

  “Never.”

  “Can’t ask your Amish farmer daddy?”

  Johnny didn’t answer.

  “Or that pretty sister of yours? What’s her name? Rachel?”

  All that aspirin with a beer chaser on an empty stomach was eating a hole through his abdominal lining. “Rachel’s a widow, Mr. Sherman, an Amish school teacher. She has nothing to do with any of this, and she has no money.”

  “She doesn’t have to have anything to do with this.” Mr. Sherman’s cold eyes peered out from below beefy lids.

  Johnny’s stomach pitched. He understood the threat.

  “Breathe, Johnny,” Mr. Sherman said with a smile. “Breathe. I’m not planning to harm her or any of the others.”

  Of course not. He’d send Mick and Thomas.

  Feeling his strength fading fast, Johnny rushed to the point. “Whatever I can do, Mr. Sherman. Just tell me.”

  The man smiled, looking like the fat spider that wrapped Frodo in the cocoon. And he was Frodo, unable to escape, with no Sam to rescue him.

  “I need someone to run to Philadelphia for me next Saturday,” Mr. Sherman said. “There’s a package that needs to be picked up. It’s a trip worth a thousand dollars off your debt.”

  Whatever it was he was to transport, Johnny knew it was illegal. He also knew he’d do it.

  What choice did he have?

  “Go get a good night’s sleep, Johnny.” Mr. Sherman smiled as if he really cared. “We want you to feel well enough to drive into the city tomorrow.”

  “Let me help you to your car.” Mick took a step toward him.

  Johnny’s stomach dropped, leaving him lightheaded and dizzy. Still he managed to hold out a hand. “No. I’ll manage fine by myself.”

  “I’ll help you, Johnny.” Mick’s voice was steel. “Wouldn’t want you to fall on your face, would we? It’s already all rainbow shades.”

  As Mick stepped toward him, hand out to grab, Thomas looked at him for the first time since the parking lot. Then Mick had his arm in a vice, and he was led ignominiously from Corner Bob’s.

  When they reached his car, Johnny felt Mick’s grip slide from his arm to the muscle at the top of his shoulder. Johnny flinched as Mick squeezed.

  “There will be a second package to pick up next week,” Mick hissed in his ear. He squeezed harder, and Johnny was sure he’d vomit at the pain. “And you will tell no one. Got that? No one.”

  Johnny managed a nod. Mick released him, and Johnny grabbed the car to stay upright. Over Mick’s shoulder he saw Thomas disappear back into Corner Bob’s. Did Thomas think Mick couldn’t handle him? Like it was a contest. After all, he was an Amish nobody and Mick could be in WWE.

  Somehow he managed to drive to Rachel’s and drag himself back to bed. He felt so bad he was sure he’d die. If he didn’t manage it today, he’d probably manage it next week.

  Chapter 30

  The day after learning the truth about Rachel, Rob arrived at class before either she or Amy. He slid into his usual seat and pulled his new tablet from its pouch. He was surfing the app store when he felt her. He looked up, and sure enough, Rachel stood in the doorway looking pale, beautiful, and uncertain.

  He knew how she felt. He was so confused it was a wonder he’d found the on button for the tablet. He knew he should be understanding of her dilemma, but he felt deceived, played, and thoroughly snookered. The longer he thought about the way she’d played him, the angrier he became.

  He knew what she’d done was nothing like his father’s crimes, but the feeling of being taken was so familiar. It made him look the fool, and it stung badly. He hadn’t felt this conflicted since he watched the cops lead his father away in handcuffs, the man he had admired above all others reduced to a common con man.

  He should just ignore her. He should make believe he wasn’t aware of her. He should let his simmering anger surface and scorch the air with his contempt. Then she’d know.

  Yet as their eyes met, he gave a little smile and patted the seat next to him. She visibly relaxed, a sure sign she’d been worried about his welcome. Well, she should be. He turned back to his tablet.

  “Hi,” she whispered as she sank into the chair.

  He gave her a nod but didn’t look up.

  “Is that new?” It was Amy, all perky and uninhibited. He hadn’t even noticed her come in. “Let me see.”

  Talk about the device managed to cover the awkwardness between him and Rachel until Dr. Dyson cleared her throat and began class.

  Rachel pulled out her AlphaSmart, and all Rob’s anxiety and anger focused on the innocent machine. How stupid to think a battery operated word processor was all right to use because of its battery when his new tablet wasn’t because of its plug. She had to use electricity too. She had to send her material to an electric printer to get it off her “legal” machine. And what made a buggy so magical or a pinned-together dress so holy? He just didn’t get it. She hadn’t only deceived him. She was deceiving herself. Amish? Ha!

  He tried to make himself listen to Dr. Dyson, but he only succeeded part of the time. She kept distracting him. She typed. She squirmed. She breathed!

  What was it with people he cared for being dishonest? First his father turned all their lives into chaos. Then his mother wheedled and manipulated to get what she wanted. Win was a leech who took advantage of everyone he came in contact with. And now Rachel.

  Not that he felt about her as he felt about his family. Oh, no. The pull toward her was a hundred times stronger, a thousand times stronger.

  And the hurt and confusion too.

  “So it’s the character traits that a writer gives his people that make them interesting, and in the best scenarios, fascinating,” Dr. Dyson said. “What character traits are important to you? What draws you to someone? Makes you admire them?”

  Honesty! Rob wanted to shout it.

  “What repels you?” she continued. “Makes you distrust or dislike someone? I want you to select two character traits, one positive, one negative, and write about why they’re important to you. I want examples of times you saw them played out in real life, your life. Remember, people, personal.”

  “I’m writing about balance and extremism,” Amy announced as they walked from class. “I lived for so long with people who had no balance and too much fanaticism. I admire people who have balance and I distrust those who don’t.”

  It always tickled Rob that this little woman who looked like Tinker Bell was so feisty and spirited. She looked like she needed a strong man to care for her while in reality she was a scrapper who stood tall an
d walked proud.

  “I’m trying to sort through the damage done me by extremism,” she continued. “It’s taken me a while to realize I can be committed to something, say Jesus, and still be balanced.”

  They started down the stairs to the ground floor.

  “What about you, Rach?” she asked. “What are you going to write on?”

  Rachel frowned. “I don’t know. I have to think about it.”

  “You, Rob?” Amy stared up at him.

  The answer was so obvious that he was surprised she asked. “Honesty and deceit. After my father and the fallout from his deceit, honesty is primary for me.”

  He felt Rachel, walking beside him, stiffen. He glanced at her. Her face, already paler than usual, had turned ashen. He was torn between satisfaction that his barb had hit home and guilt that he’d hurt her.

  They walked out of the building. He stopped at the curb and began fiddling with his car keys. “By the way, I’m not going to the Star tonight.”

  “Oh, come on,” Amy said. “We always go.

  He shook his head. “I’ve got stuff I need to do.” Like go home and try not to think of Rachel and their doomed relationship.

  “But Win’ll be at the Star.”

  “And that’s supposed to sell me?”

  Amy laughed. “Come on, Rob. We always go. Tell him, Rachel.”

  They both looked at Rachel who wouldn’t look back. “I don’t think I want to go either, Amy. Let’s just go home.”

  Amy looked back and forth between Rob and Rachel. “Come on, you guys!”

  “Let it go, Amy,” Rob said.

  “Why? What’s wrong?”

  Rachel shrugged. “Nothing. I just don’t want to go.”

  Rachel’s nothing was so patently untrue Amy gave Rob her pixie’s version of the evil eye. She stepped close. “What did you do?” she asked softly.

  “Wasn’t me.”

  He felt like taking a step back in the face of her vehemence but forced himself to stand firm. He wasn’t the one who’d done anything wrong.